A tale to tell
by Freya writes
Summary: Finding peace in the blessed realm is hard for those who have brought their stories with them from the mortal lands. Early Third Age.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: all characters, places and settings belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. Or do you actually believe I came up with them?! 

Love this? Hate it? Tell me why! Or even better, become my beta! I will be forever gratefull. 

A Tale to tell.

There he came. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The presence of an Elf of such station and charisma was unnerving, even to her. And even more so because of his business here. 

His greeting was, as always, elaborate yet familiar. This particularity of the locals here had not yet ceased to irritate her. They were confusing, always using a waterfall of words where they could have done with few, and still never keeping the polite distances between strangers she had been brought up with. 

Then he surprised her with his eagerness, by coming straight to business. 

"Will you come tonight,young one?"

"I really fail to understand why the telling of a tale so insignificant as mine should take place in such a solemn surrounding, and before such an audience, Mylord. I cannot help but find that it will fail to entertain you."

"Insignificant as it may seem in comparison with its contemporaries, it is nevertheless a story. For us here, who have seen the end of all songs and stories several yéni ago, it will provide not only entertainment, but also a matter of scholarly interest. Not all of us have lost interest in the East, as you seem to think. Moreover, is it not time you start considering it a thing of the past, and allow it to be discussed freely in your presence? Telling a sad tale often helps to soothe the pain of it, as many newly arrived here have discovered."

"It is not a sad one, Mylord. At least not entirely. It was joyous, even exhilarating on many occasions. I have no desire to leave it behind me entirely, as many from Beleriand seem to have done with their experiences."

"Then share it, and never have it forgotten, for as long as Arda will exist. And do not compare yourself to the martyrs of the First Age, young one. You do not have scars to show for such a comparison."

"I did not intend to. My apologies."

Two ages of continuous peace had not yet healed the wounds within his family. Even the mention of the ancient lands of suffering was enough to spark off his ire, as many younger returnees had had to find out the hard way. 

"Accepted. Now, what say you to my request?"

"I will come, but not tomorrow. Give me time to think about the matter. I would like to put it to writing before the telling."

"As you wish. Time is something we here have in near endless supply. Goodnight, youg one."

"Goodnight, Mylord."

As he closed the door behind him, she watched the unique colour of the setting sun through the high window. The nearness of a full moon added a silver quality to its light. It made the colours of the drawings in the book before her seem livelier than they had ever looked in the old lands. At first, she had considered the vividness of the colours a property of Valinorean inks and pigments. It was only when she unpacked her books and scrolls from home -no, not home any more- she realised it was the light. 'It makes things look like they were meant to', her thirty-year-old daughter had said. 

She had not yet decided whether she could agree with the child.   


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was late, now. Through the eastern window, she could see the dark outlines of the mountains , silhouetted against a sky full of stars that shone brighter than she had ever dared to imagine before.  

She did not even experience a hint of tiredness, though. It was another difference with her old life, in which a sleepless night spent in the scriptorium would always require payment the following day. Even her own body seemed alien here, be it more powerfull and enduring, but alien nevertheless. The changes wrought upon her mind and body by the proximity of the Powers in this land  still frightened her. 

With a sigh, she bent over the blank scroll in front of her once more. The task at hand was a difficult one, and she wanted to make at least a beginning with it before retiring. Her husband had come in to check on her earlier, but he had immediately recognised the mood she was in now, and left her to her own devices with only the information in which room he would be sleeping. There would be a warm bed waiting when she decided to come out of her melancholic isolation. She did not dare admit to herself how much comfort that was. 

Even the beginning was difficult. Where had it all begun? It seemed egocentric to start a story with one's own birth, but then, she could think of no other point in time to make a coherent start with her story. And so she wrote:

'I was born in Imladris, many years after the siege of the Dark Land had come to its dramatic end. My parents were an exceptional pair in many ways, but according to what I've been told, they were also exceptionally happy. My father is very old. Born a Noldor in First-Age Gondolin, he managed to survive not only the fall of that city, but also the sack of the Havens, the War of Wrath and, much later, Dagorlad. In the court of Lindon, he came to be a close friend and, later, advisor to Lord Elrond, and thus entered the Peredhels service after the tragic fall of his King.

 My mother was much younger. Born and raised in Ost-in-Edhil, to a partially Sindar family, she was a student of my fathers when they fell in love. A student at the school of the Word-Smiths, that is. Both my parents were scholars, in those days, though my father was, and still is, pretty much of a warrior too, be it not of his own volition. My mother has never had any love for or interest in the trade of arms. She came to rue that afterwards. 

I will not speak here of my family's suffering at the fall of Eregion, or their decision, after the War, to live in the Hidden Valley, in Lord Elronds service. Not because it would be irrelevant, but because I feel it is a story better told by themselves. 

I have very little memories of my early childhood now, and at the time when the main part of this story took place, I had next to none. I later reconstructed parts of the puzzle that is my childhood from stories of others, and the reacquaintance with once familiar surroundings.  But it took the recent reunion with my mother to wrap it all up.  In those days, my mother befriended the Lady Celebrian, wife of Lord Elrond. Had Imladris been a proper court, one might have considered my mother a lady-in-waiting. She often rode out with her, and, one winter day, about two hundred years after the birth of the Lady Arwen, Lady Celebrian decided, as she did often, to visit her homeland, the woods of Lothlorien. My mother and several other ladies of Imladris were invited along, and were happy to oblige, for the woodland was renowned for its beauty, even in winter, and my mother had Sindarin relatives of her own to visit there. More in particular, she wanted to introduce her ten-year-old daughter to them for the first time. My father was not to come along, for he was to assist Lord Elrond in matters of state. 

I have been told that it was a merry party that left Imladris that fatefull morning, in spite of Lord Elronds feeling of foreboding. There were many nissi and elflings among them. Too many, it would turn out. There is no need for me to recount the events of that trip. You know them all too well. Again, I have no firsthand memories from it, although some came back to haunt my dreams later on. Let me tell you wath the search parties, from both Lothlorien and Imladris, found on the pass. The bodies of all travellers, save Lady Celebrians and those of three female elflings. The neri had all died in the battle, the male elflings had simply been finished off, and most nissi, including my mother, had died in the particular way that is unimaginable to those here in Aman. As I said, the Lady was not among them. She was later rescued from the Orc den. Of the Elflings, there was no trace. 

What happened to us in the first three months after the attack, I do not know. I must have been taken across the mountains and the great river, to end up on the slave market of Nurnen. By which route and why, are still mysteries. The most likely course of events is that the attack on the Elvish company was carried out by a combined force of men from Dunland and Orcs. The Dunlandings were slave traders, and it is not unlikely that I have been sold a couple of times over my strange trajectory. I do not remember what happened to my unlucky companions. Whether we were separated by our new owners first, or they simply faded and died where I did not, I do not know. Neither do I know why it was me who had to survive that dark ordeal. Maybe because I was the only one too young to understand the facts of the matter, and still childlike enough to be pampered by some wild woman .'

She laid down the pen, and read the text over. It seemed written by another hand. Impersonal and devoid of emotion. She imagined the reactions of her future Valinorean public to it. Compassion was the only thing that sprung to mind. She felt the urge to add something to counter that emotion. Sad tales from the east were told here in such abundance that some elves of Western birth had taken to treating the new arrivals as if they were made of porcelain. She did not desire such patronising form the elves who were to be her fellow scholars here.  

'I have since been told many times, and by many Elves, that all would have been better had I followed both other elflings to Nàmo's Halls. The remark has always greatly angered me. It was an evil deed, and much grief has come from it, but also many good things, and in hindsight, I am certain that I do not regret the course of events.  My life would have been lesser without them.'

She smiled at the thought of sparking controverse with that remark. The idea that anything worthy of remembrance could come from contact with the Secondborn was still rather revolutionary here, even after Lord Elronds arrival with the tales of the War of the Ring. Perhaps even this would help his sake, be it a little. 

Outside, first light had crept into what was visible of the eastern sky. It was of a transparant pale blue that reminded her very much of Imladris. She would be able to sleep with this image in mind, she thought. Not even bothering to straw sand on the drying manuscript, she rose swiflty and walked through the awakening house, her mind filled with consoling images of blue light on mountaintops, and the warm body of her husband in a soft bed.


	3. Author's note

Author's note: 

As you may have found out by now, this is going to be a somewhat longer and complex story.  Since it is also my first one, and English is not my first language, I feel I really need a beta reader to help me with both grammar and story-structure.  

So if you are a native speaker, have some experience writing fanfiction, and (preferrably), own a copy of  'The Lost Tales', to help me sort out the dates, please send me a mail. 

You don't need a lot of spare time, because I don't have much either, so updates won't be every week.

The curious Elves of Valinor and Freya will be immensely gratefull!


	4. Chapter 3

As you have probably noticed, I have moved this story from the 'Silmarillion' section to 'Lord of the rings',  because it didn't seem to cover the same timeline as the other stories there. 

Did you like this? Let me know! I also greatly appreciate constructive criticism.

Chapter 3

The day brought, as always, glorious sunshine, and when she woke Anor had already crept over the mountaintops and lifted their shadows from the land. It were her husbands caresses that roused her from the dream she had walked. It had involved a mighty sandstorm, with sky and clouds of suffocating reds and yellows, and the feelings of awe and fright lingered in her mind as she turned towards him to be embraced.  

"When did that happen?" He casually asked.

"It did not. At least not such a great one. I don't know why I made it up."

"It was a Great Eraser, I think." He said mischievously, citating from the now ancient stories she had once shared with him.

"Come to erase what?"

"You tell me, woman of the desert."  Smiling, he tried to kiss her. She pulled back, irritated.

"I never really was, husband. Besides, how could anyone still be of the desert in a land such as this?"

"Are you malcontent, Mylady?" He always tried to put this matter off with a light joke or a tease. She may be entitled to the title of Lady since their marriage, but that was the one  reason she would never be comfortable being adressed so. He knew that full well.

"Don't you call me that. And you know it is not malcontent I feel."

"Aye, I know. You are homesick for a place that never really was home."

"You have not always felt that way yourself."

"I always knew it within my heart, after the Choice. And so did you, as did all of our blood who dwelt there."

"It was so vague, within me. I hardly felt any longing for the sea, even when I saw it so close every day. It was only at the Great Fading that I started to realise. And there still were many happy years after that. You cannot blame me for this longing for the lands of my youth now." 

"You are still young, melamin. Elbereth! Even I am, compared to most of the the locals!"

"We both ceased to be youths yéni ago, my love, when we lost our carelessness and innocence."

"You never even were innocent, if I remember correctly." 

He looked at her with that particular spark in his eyes, and a warm feeling crept towards her underbelly in spite of her irritation. She knew he was trying to distract her from this somberness that had gotten the better of her since their arrival. Yet she could not restist him and allowed herself to be kissed thouroughly. 

But her heart was not with it entirely. Still it lingered in the library, where the unfinished writing now rested upon her desk. There was no deceiving him, and he did not like sharing her with her books. 

"You did not write very much yester eve. Was it difficult?"

"Not in the way you think now. The first part is just very hard to remember. I found that I have nothing to say about it. I fear I will never really know."

"Perhaps not. You should accept that."

She smiled teasingly. "And my herven would simply be content living with a wife with a hole in her life? When I first met you, I thought you were extremely picky. Apparently I was wrong!"

"I wholeheartedly prefer you living with your strange gap in peace to this constant harrassing by distant relatives over a story that just doesn't seem to find its way out. Perhaps you should go talk to your mother. She might enlighten you. If she remembers yet."

"And stirr up that memory over something as trivial as that nosey Valinorean's sick obsession with stories from Ennor? I will leave her whatever peace of mind Namo has gifted her with, even if all High Princes of Tirion come over here and nag me for that story!"

"Then for Elbereth's sake, just skip that part and get on with what you do remember!"

"That is exactly what I am going to do, herven, if I may be excused from your bed now."

She did not even see him give her a warrior's salute as she left the room, nightdress sweeping in her wake.

A really huge 'thank you' and an even huger stack of lembas to my reviewers Finch and alena. Keep going!


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Middle-Earth, Valinor and everything in them still belong to Tolkien!

I proudly present to you my brand new and simply excellent beta: Still Anonymous. You can get to her heart-warming stories featuring Asfaloth via my 'favourite authors' section!

On with the show: (oh yes: I'd love some feedback to keep me warm on long winter nights!)

Chapter 4 

It was hundreds of years ago now, but she still remembered as if it were yesterday.  The day the landslide of changes that had overthrown her old life had begun. It also brought fond memories of her other family. The ones she had grown to love as if they were of her own blood, in spite of the great differences between them that had, in hindsight, never been fully bridged. 

The Hawali people had made camp on the eastern shores of the Great River, that winter. Being a nomadic tribe of musicians, acrobats and scribes, they held a gathering every few years, in order to strenghten ties between families, pass judgements and share stories and songs. Asa Khel Rhaw was in a truly foul mood today. It was drizzling and the cold October winds came chasing across the plains of Calenardhon. Not a very pleasurable time to be outside, especially if one's purpose there was gathering horse droppings. Normally, she would have been happy to leave this less entertaining kind of menial work to her younger sister or sister-in-law, but as both happened to have caught the shaking fever, the job fell to her. Along with doing all the laundry for three families with, in total, four young children in the icy river.

She had been busy with that all morning, and when she was finally done and proceeding to hang it all up in a nice windy spot, the rain had started, and it turned out they had run out of fuel for the campfires. So here was Asa, renowned artist and scribe throughout Middle-Earth, proud member of the High Council of the mighty Hawali people, bare-handedly flopping horseshit into a large, not nearly full basket. She fully agreed with the evil genie within her that she had every reason for  being irritated.

 She straightened her back and sighed. The surroundings were inspiring, though. In the west, across the Anduin, she could just make up the looming shapes of the Misty Mountains through the rainclouds. All around her a sea of long yellow grass waved in the wind. It was only interrupted by the backs of the horses, like moving cobblestones in every color, and by the tents, about a bowshot away. Both horses and tents were numerous and of good quality.  Many coloured banners with family insignia floated above the camp. The Hawali were a wealthy people. She could easily make out her own family banner, a red cedar tree on a field of green. 

It was a symbol from the south, where the Khel Rhaw originally hailed from. They had moved to the North just after Asa's coming of age, for reasons that were, as her mother had once said "entirely political, and not for you to meddle in". She felt guilty even thinking it, of course, but her extreme sense of discretion was one of the things she had disliked in her anne. The old woman had taken the matter to her grave. Another of Ondali Khel Rhaw's faults had been her stubbornness. The North had brought the family only cold, wetness, and ill luck, but she had always flatly refused to turn back. Even when pneumonia ended her life during the second of those vicious winters they had had the pleasure of spending here. Asa utterly disliked the Northern lands. Always raining, always cold, even to such extremes as freezing and snowing. She had never seen snow or ice before, and after the initial amazement and wonder, she had swiftly decided they were something she could have done without. After five years, her yearning for Harad had not lessened a bit.

Her gloomy contemplations were interrupted by a stir among the tents. Stretching her neck for a better look, she distinguished her older brother Renac coming towards her. She ran to meet him.

"Brother, what is going on?"

 He smiled broadly, knowing how she welcomed the opportunity to interrupt her work.

"Gods, sister, you look like a heap of dung yourself! Go wash and change into your best clothes, important visitors have arrived and the council will gather with them after they have eaten."

"Who could that be? Certainly not another representative from the King?"

" No, better!"

Asa raised her eyebrows, unable to think of anyone more important than a messenger from the King of Gondor visiting the camp in this unholy weather.

"Speak up!"

"The Half-Elves! And don't start rambling on how I should not believe old wives' stories. I have just seen them with my own eyes. Looking really strange and beautiful, exactly alike, and as real as you and I."

Asa didn't even bother to answer him, she simply started spurting towards the camp, basket, dignity, and brother forgotten in her hurry to get decent for what promised to become the most interesting meeting of the entire winter. 

It had not taken her long to scrub all remains of her unpleasant task from her hands, and change from her oldest tunic into much cleaner robes. She had even managed to get her sister Alawi to rise from her sickbed and make the required elaborate knot in her headscarf. Covering herself completely with the one cloak she still possessed that did not smell of horse, she left Alawi's tent for the central square. In spite of the weather, which had now changed from a drizzle into a positive downpour, it was crowded with men and women, all obviously having dropped whatever they were doing when the guests arrived, now trying to catch a glimpse from what was happening within the council tent. Shoving some wildly excited children aside, and being let past by the others, she managed to enter it. It was the largest tent in the camp, big enough to contain the twenty council members, a man and a woman for every family present. She proceeded to take her place in the outer circle behind her brother, who was already seated on his own cushion, animatedly talking to his neighbour. She cleaned her throat and waited for him to turn around, which he did almost immediately. 

"They will be here any moment, Salac says they want to discuss the mountain-apes* with us. Apparently, they seek our military assistance in keeping the passes of the Misty Mountains open."

"And what will the Khel Rhaw standpoint be?"

"We will hesitantly approve."

"I do not see what we have to gain in the matter. There will only be more combat in the crossing of the mountains, than when we choose to just cross them by ourselves."

"These Elves are very powerful in the North. Their friendship is an excellent recommendation at the court of Fornost."

"I see. I will go talk to..."

She never got to finish that sentence. Thawinac, oldest member and the chairman of the council walked in in the company of two men, so alike in appearance they seemed mirror images. Both were absolutely beautiful. She had no other word for it, though they had nothing effeminate in their appearance. They were lean and elegant, but in the broadness of their shoulders, there was a hint of long years of living the life of a warrior. They did not look like any men she had ever seen before, though. In Harad and Gondor, a full beard was an important symbol of masculinity. No man in his right mind would seriously consider cutting it off. These two, however, had such smooth faces they had to have shaven it off for some reason. On a closer look, there wasn't even a blue sheen from cut hairs on their faces. They couldn't have grown beards if they had tried. Their shoulder-length black hair was intricately braided and decorated with small silver jewels. Just visible underneath it were the tips of ears that were subtly different from normal ones. And their eyes. . . to her, they seemed older than anything she had ever seen, speaking of the joys and sorrows of places and times unimaginable to the likes of her. She felt dwarfed by their mere presence.  In fact, they made her feel very uneasy. A sick feeling of dread and foreboding settled upon her and extinguished the joy she had been feeling at their appearance. Her stomach seemed to dance within her belly and she had to restrain herself from getting up and leaving. 

Thawinac's introduction and the rest of the meeting passed in a haze. She had to restrain herself from staring at them constantly, but never felt at ease untill she was looking at them, only to have that feeling replaced by irrational fear while she was actually looking. One time, she found the eyes of one of them them directly fixed upon her.  She no longer dared to look after that. For once, she found it a good thing her older sibling got to do all the talking. The only decision made that day was postponing the decision untill the day after tomorrow, so when the council was dismissed, she made a hasty retreat to her tent, brushing off her friend Malani by saying she had probably caught Alawi's shaking fever as well. Malani didn't really believe that, off course. Asa had literally never been ill in her life.  

  


* * *

* In my humble opinion, orcs are an unknown species in sunny Harad. So a Haradi who knew apes would probably describe them like that.


End file.
